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POEMS 



BY 

JOHN T. McFARLAND 




THE METHODIST BOOK CONCERN 
NEW YORK CINCINNATI 






Copyright, 1914, by 
MRS. JOHN T. MoFARLAND 



SEP 24 1914 
©CI.A.'J79647 



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CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Introduction 5 

The Voyage 15 

Full-Jeweled Hearts 16 

Traditions 18 

The Soul's Testing 19 

Be Still m 

Anonymous 23 

"Behold, I Make All Things New". . . 24 

The Mightiest Master 26 

"For Judgment I Am Come" 27 

A Man and God 28 

Not Old, Not New 29 

The Greatest Love 31 

The Song of the Palms 32 

The Sixth Day and the First 34 

"Super Crucem" 37 

Christ Comes Again 38 

The Monk and the Picture 39 

The Shortened Hour 41 

The Inns 42 

Saint Imier's Bells 43 

The Call of the Seers 45 

After Twenty-six Years 47 

The Bond of the Years 53 

Analogia 54 

"Out of the Desert into the Hills" 58 

S 



PAGE 

The Pathos of Life 60 

"They Do Not Understand" 62 

Be Merciful 64 

His Hand 65 

The Eyes of a Child 66 

Forty Years Ago 67 

The Surprise 68 

Death and Life 69 

The Pearl of Peace 72 

My Final Self 73 

My Sleeping Place 74 

The Enduring Dream 75 



JOHN THOMAS McFARLAND 

One might not at first glance have 
thought of John T. McFarland as a poet. 
He did not have the physical appearance 
or bearing which we ordinarily associate 
with poets. Of sturdy build, immense 
physical vigor, and great directness of 
speech, he seemed at first a poet only in 
the etymological sense of being a doer. 

It required only a very slight acquaint- 
ance with Dr. McFarland, however, to 
discover that he had in a remarkable degree 
the qualities of which poets are made. His 
very physical strength gave him a superior 
joy. He was a man of fine and delicate fiber. 
While he lived at Yonkers, New York, he and 
I occasionally would row across the Hudson 
River, climb the Palisades, and walk for 
miles along the edge of those magnificent 
cliffs which afford a view unequaled by 
anything else of the kind in America. I 
have never known a man more thoroughly 
alive to all the influences of the air, and 
earth and sky than was Dr. McFarland on 
those rare days. All there was of him — and 
there was a vast deal — seemed open and sen- 
sitive to the finer aspects of nature's forces. 
5 



Moreover, Dr. McFarland had the wide 
experience which brings that thorough under- 
standing of human life which always marks 
the true poet. He was born in southern 
Indiana, son of a sea-faring man who had 
turned from the ocean to the western wil- 
derness. I have heard Dr. McFarland 
speak many times of his deep respect for 
his father, and of the interest in the large 
outside world which came to the boy on 
the frontier from hearing the tales of the 
sea. While John Thomas was still very 
young the family moved to Iowa. At that 
time Iowa was not only a frontier between 
the East and the West, but also somewhat 
of a borderland between North and South. 
The young McFarland passed his teens in 
Iowa at a time when he could on any sum- 
mer day see the long lines of pioneer prairie 
schooners passing toward the west. In his 
story, "When I Was a Boy in Iowa," the 
Doctor has given us a vivid and sympathetic 
picture of life in those early days. So many 
of our descriptions of pioneer times, after all, 
have missed the side lights and the gentler 
touches. The young McFarland observed 
very keenly, and for this reason his recollec- 
tions have surpassing value. For example, 

6 



he lived in Iowa at a time when the passen- 
ger pigeon was still in the west in great 
alDundance. Readers will remember Audu- 
bon's descriptions of the great masses which 
the flocks of these birds formed; how they 
would pass across the sky in vast clouds. 
Dr. McFarland has told many times of seeing 
trees broken under the weight of these alight- 
ing flocks. Yet to-day the passenger pigeon 
seems to be practically extinct. Into the 
heart of such a virgin land the McFarland 
family moved; and the young lad entered 
into all the life with zest. 

The education possible for a boy in that 
frontier community was not extensive; but 
for one who had the mental characteristics 
of John T. McFarland, it could at least 
be profound. The books were few, but 
they were thoroughly mastered. To the 
end of his days our friend had the power 
of becoming completely lost in any book 
which made strong appeal to him. I recall 
that some years ago a rather original book 
on astronomy appeared. Dr. McFarland 
picked up a copy of the book at a country 
store, and then went down to the station 
to read until his train came. He became 
so absorbed in the reading of the book that 
7 



he went straight through it without noting 
the passing of the hours. When he came 
to the last page, of course his train had 
long since gone. This ability to become 
fascinated and interested by statements 
which made any appeal to him at all re- 
mained with him to the end of his days. 
He never outgrew his wonder at the world. 
The world always cast a spell over him. 
He was fascinated by the universe. 

Of great value to him also in the develop- 
ment of a temperament, in a high sense 
poetical, were his experiences in the min- 
istry. Beginning in a frontier country 
church, after his return from college and uni- 
versity. Dr. McFarland passed through all 
grades of appointments up to some of the 
most important pulpits of the Methodist 
denomination. His pastoral experiences be- 
got in him deep insight into the springs 
and motives of human conduct, and gave 
him glimpses of human nature in its heights 
and in its depths. He took his respon- 
sibilities as pastor seriously. I have known 
him to return from a pastoral visitation 
actually physically ill because of the reve- 
lations to which he had been compelled 
to listen. I have known him to lie awake 

8 



all night because lie did not seem to him- 
self to have been successful in dealing 
wisely with the persons whom he had tried 
to help. In later years he was able to 
look upon some of his experiences more 
philosophically than at an earlier period, 
but in those earlier days he was so sensitive 
to the weal and woe of human beings that 
pastoral work was a great drain upon him; 
yet out of this came a large understanding 
of men. 

It goes without saying that Dr. McFar- 
land's conscience was of the heroically 
aggressive type. He did not know how to 
compromise with evil. He did not know 
how to keep silent in the presence of evil. 
His instinct was always to strike against 
wrong the moment it showed itself. He 
was very zealous for the honor of his church, 
but he always spoke forth with ringing 
voice at the least sign of encroaching official- 
ism. No one who has followed the course 
of Methodist history in the last ten years 
has any doubt as to Dr. McFarland's 
loyalty to his convictions of truth. When 
he came to the editorship of the Sunday 
school publications, he became convinced 
that the only proper method for the study 
9 



of the Scriptures was that of the investi- 
gation of the modern expert combined with 
the insight of the spiritual seer. This 
brought him at once into conflict with some 
good men who could not see that there had 
been any progress in biblical research through 
the years. Such men called Dr. McFarland 
a destructive critic and a rationalist. I 
do not think that these criticisms disturbed 
him very much, though he took them 
seriously enough. I have seen fault-finding 
communications sent to him which almost 
anyone else would have thrown into the 
waste-basket. He always answered even 
abusive communications in a perfectly kind 
and Christian spirit. He was himself essen- 
tially conservative in relation to great 
Christian fundamentals. Having declared 
his loyalty, however, to these fundamentals, 
he was not over-anxious to appear in the 
light of a defender of his own position. He 
simply stated his thought and let men adjust 
themselves to it as best they could. Espe- 
cially was this true in his conception of the 
nature of the child. No man of Dr. McFar- 
land's sensibilities could ever have imagined 
that children came into this world weighted 
down with an unescapable mass of de- 

10 



pravlty. Dr. McFarland had very little 
patience with any such view, and of course 
aroused the opposition of religious leaders 
of the more Calvinistic type. This note 
of courage is essential in the poet or prophet 
of truth. 

There were moments when a lofty imag- 
inative vein showed in Dr. McFarland's 
public speech. I have heard of sermons 
preached by him in which his words took 
on an exalted form of poetic sublimity. 
His preaching was always orderly and 
logical, dealing with the more massive 
substances of the Divine truth. But there 
came instants when the entire body of 
his utterance was surcharged with peculiar 
power. I remember one occasion when 
this magnetism showed in an unusual de- 
gree. The occasion was a meeting of young 
people in a small inland town in New Jersey. 
The Doctor was speaking on the possi- 
bility of so dealing with our doubts as to 
make them in the end useful. The address 
was really a plea for faith, and came to a 
cHmax with an argument for the reason- 
ableness of the universe as shown by the 
order and plan which prevail throughout. 
The final illustration was of the stately 
11 



march of the solar system through space, 
an illustration used frequently enough, but 
seldom with the splendidly irresistible elo- 
quence that Dr. McFarland manifested 
upon that occasion. 

Added to all of these endowments was an 
exquisite and subtle insight arising from a 
rich and full inner life. Those who looked 
upon Dr. McFarland in his long illness 
were impressed with the tremendous courage 
of the man. He pulled himself together in 
the face of physical distress which would 
have killed one of feebler mold. But 
those who knew him best saw not only 
this heroism, but also the ripening of spir- 
itual understanding which came with the 
months of suffering. Some years ago he 
was stricken suddenly with an ailment 
which seemed certain to end his life. In 
the crisis of the distress, he expected the 
end. With a mind perfectly clear, he 
approached what seemed to him the en- 
trance to another life. He did not claim 
to have had any mystic vision, but at a 
moment when everything of the earth 
seemed slipping away, there was borne into 
his soul a conviction of the reality of the 
supremely spiritual forces which made every- 

12 



thing earthly seem insignificant. He came 
back to us after that experience, not, indeed, 
to preach that the things of earth are of 
no value, but to light everything he touched 
with the glory of rapt spiritual awareness. 
The poems which compose this book give 
us glimpses into the best life of one of the 
best souls our church has ever claimed 
for its own. 

Francis J. McConnell. 



13 



THE VOYAGE 

I GO not where I will, but must; 
This planet-ship on which I ride 
Is drawn by a resistless tide; 
I touch no pilot wheel, but trust 

That One who holds the chart of stars, 
Whose fathom-lines touch lowest deeps. 
Whose eye the boundless spaces sweeps. 

Will guide the ship through cosmic bars. 

My soul goes not a chosen way; 
A current underruns my life, 
That moves alike in peace or strife, 

And turns not for my yea or nay. 

Not on the bridge but at the mast, 
I sail o'er this far-streaming sea; 
I will arrive: enough for me 

My Captain's smile and word at last. 



15 



FULL-JEWELED HEARTS 

OGOD, we bring our hearts to thee! 
They fret, 
And wear, and eat their substance out; 

their wheels 
Move slowly, and dull care, and fevered 

pain. 
And anxious fear, and choking doubts, fill 

all 
Their parts, and wear them out; and on 

the dial 
Of Life our spirits falsely mark the time. 
Great Maker of our hearts, we bring them 

back 
To thee, and on thy table lay them 

down. 
And pray that thou wouldst take them 

all apart, 
Remove the dust, restore that which is 

worn. 
Drop in the oil of grace, and set again 
Their parts in place, and pivot all their 

wheels 
In jewels cut from thine own crown: of 

Faith, 
Of Virtue, Knowledge, Temperance, 

Patience calm, 
Kindness and royal Love; and then, O 

God, 

16 



Hold them to thine own heart, until they 

beat 
In unison with all thy thoughts, and point 
With steady hands, that never lag nor 

haste, 
To all the circling hours of starry Truth ! 



17 



TRADITIONS 

FAR-BLOWN across the fields of years 
Faint notes of deathless song; 
A breath that wakes the fount of tears, 
A tale of ancient wrong; 

Dim shapes which pass across the space 

Between the far and near; 
The cheerings of a distant race 

Which faintly reach the ear; 

A spirit like an inner fire, 

The callings of the high; 
The bugle notes of brave desire 

Which make it good to die; 

The faith which led the martyrs' feet. 
The rights for which men died; 

The hopes in poet-hearts that beat. 
High dreams which still abide; 

They come from out the misty past. 

Our silent rulers still. 
The source of thought and act at last, 

The molders of the will. 



18 



THE SOUL'S TESTING 

I 

(2 Kings 2. 1-12) 

HERE tarry thou." "Nay, prophet, 
nay, from thee 
I will not part. A great light in thine 

eyes 
I see; thy face is lifted to the skies. 
Thy feet, as if on Gilead's mountains free, 
Are swift to run their course; unheard 
by me 
Thine ears are filled with far-off sounds 

that rise 
And call with might. Nay, prophet, 
I am wise 
To know great things mine eyes this 

day shall see." 
To Bethany they ran, to Jericho, 

To Jordan's flood, which opened wide 
a way 
To let them pass; and then the car 
of flame, 
The whirlwind's thunder, and the deepen- 
ing glow 
Of angels' feet, a cry of rapt dismay. 
And one returning by the way he 
came! 



19 



II 

(Genesis 32. 24-29) 

*'The day is breaking: let me go." A 
flame 
In Jacob's eye came up, a purpose high. 
"Though strength is faint, in pain my 
withered thigh, 
I will not let thee go — for this I came. 
Thy blessing's gift, the secret of thy 
Name." 
As watchers for the morning faint 

descry 
The flush of gold along the eastern sky. 
The angel's smile broke o'er the past of 

shame — 
**Supplanter once, now Prince forever- 
more! 
Why ask my Name.^^ But look, and 
thou shalt know." 
The wrestler loosed his grasp, on 
bended knee 
The bowed head felt the sacred chrism's 
outpour. 
And Love's great tide came in over- 
flow. 
Lo, it was day, and Israel stood free! 



20 



Ill 



I too, O Lord, have heard thy searching 
word, 
''Here tarry thou," and "'Let me go." 

And I, 
Heart-dull and blind, have let the hours 
go by, 
Rich-freighted with all good, which should 

have stirred 
My wakened soul its wrestling thews to 
gird; 
And ashen turned again the purpling 

sky. 
And all the channels of the years ran 
dry. 
Because I heard, and knew not what I 

heard. 
To him who stays, or will not wrestle still. 
No prophet's mantle e'er will clothe 
his soul. 
Nor secret of the Name to him unfold. 
Who answers not with faith's unflinching 
will, 
''I will not leave thee till I reach the 
goal,^ 
And still unblest, will never loose my 
hold!" 



21 



BE STILL 



BE still, O lake, be still! 
The sky bends low above. 
The stars rain light of love. 
Be still, and in thy heart 
A mirrored world shall start; 
The great and golden moon 
Shall in thy bosom swoon: 
Thy tumult and thy foam 
Cannot reflect the dome — 
Be still, be still! 

Be still, O soul, be still! 
Above thee bends God's face. 
His eyes shed light of grace; 
Be still, and lo, the gleams 
Of heaven shall fill thy dreams; 
Great starry truths shall find 
Deep welcome in thy mind; 
Thy passion and thy strife 
Break up the inner life — 

Be still, be still! 



^2 



ANONYMOUS 

I HEARD from copse a sudden gush of 
song; 
But when I sought the singer he had 

flown; 
The flash of no famiUar wing made 
known 
The bird to which the witching notes 

belong. 
Above the babel of the harsh street's 
throng 
Arose a voice of thrilling, dulcet tone. 
Like liquid note from silver bugle 
blown — 
Whose spirit filled that voice with magic 

strong? 
They built an altar to the Unknown God 
In Athens : we to Unknown Poets build 
A shrine. By dusty ways, of life 
they sang. 
And weary travelers' fainting souls 
were thrilled. 
And dim, deep heart-dales with the 
music rang — 
They sang, and sleep unknown beneath 
the sod! 



^S 



"BEHOLD, I MAKE ALL THINGS 
NEW" 

ALONG the west, in solemn grandeur 
piled, 
The vast cloud mountains lie, built up 

in black 
And gold and amethyst, with crimson 

depths 
And purple underglows; and on the 

heights 
Among the shining peaks, we seem to see 
The walls, and gates of pearl, and lifted 

domes 
Of the Celestial City, and far off. 
And faintly flashing in th' enchanted air 
The wings of circling angels : and our 

souls 
Cry out, ''O God, breathe on thy picture 

fair. 
And fix its colors on the heavens' blue!" 
But no : e'en while we look the glory dies, 
The splendors fade, the peaks are leveled 

down, 
The domes and spires in gray cloud-mist 

dissolve, 
And all the glorious scene is swept away 
Before the night-wind's breath. 



U 



But so it is 
That he may paint and hang sublimer 

scenes 
Before our eyes : Behold, to-morrow night. 
There in the place where this rich picture 

hung, 
The storm-king riding in his car of gloom. 
The lightning playing 'round the thunder 

heads 
And all the battle-banners fierce flung out 
Before the tempest's charging front: and 

then 
The morn, all other morns unlike, and 

noon 
With radiant strength, and eve again, 

and calm 
Of midnight stars — and over all the voice 
Of Him who sits upon the throne: "Be- 
hold, 
I make all things anew." Be still, my 

soul! 



25 



THE MIGHTIEST MASTER 

IN Naples, on her purple bay, in Rome, 
Among the shattered thrones of 
ancient kings. 
In Florence, where the flashing Arno 
sings. 
And Venice, 'neath San Marco's golden 
dome, 
I saw the art which still a glory flings 
Across the land where Genius had her 
home — 
The sacred Babe, the gleam of angel's 
wings. 
The face of martyred saint, the Judgment 
Throne — 
Such things, they said, the mighty 

Masters wrought — 
Angelo's dreams and Raphael's death- 
less thought: 
But I forgot them all beneath the arch 
Of Alpine skies, but felt the mighty 
spell 
Of soaring peaks, and heard the tem- 
pest's march 
Among the heights — for there God's 
shadow fell! 

Bad Sender, Switzerland. 



m 



'TOR JUDGMENT I AM COME" 

THE ceiling of the Sistine Chapel grew 
At touch of great Buonarroti's 
hand. 
Alone four years, face upward, wrought 
and planned 
The master; then, in royal pomp, to view 
The work, came Pope and cardinals, who 
knew 
Not, nor, in greed and pride, could 

understand 
The deep enigmas which the circle 
spanned. 
Then Julius, to his sordid nature true. 
Complained, "There is no gold in it 
at all!" 
"Most holy Father," Michael made 
reply 
With bitter laugh, "Those forms upon 
the wall 
Not rich, but holy people were." Then 

eye 
Of prophet and of sibyl from on high. 
Shot lightnings in that solemn Judg- 
ment Hall. 

Rome, Italy. 



27 



A MAN AND GOD 

THEY walked and talked — a Man and 
God; 
A fragrance lingered where they trod, 
A music circled as they spoke, 
And over them a glory broke. 

They talked and walked, down many 

years — 
The way was called The Vale of Tears; 
But he who walked with God received 
Such comfort that he little grieved. 

And walking thus, and talking so. 
The Man and God fared onward slow. 
Until they reached a secret spot — 
God took him, and the Man was not. 



S8 



NOT OLD, NOT NEW 

I LIKE it not, this common view 
That calls the passing season old; 
I like it not, and will not hold 
The year that lies before us new. 

No year is old, no year is new; 

Time passes not on faltering feet; 

The days that come are not more fleet 
Than those which pass beyond our view. 

Nor past nor future is remote; 

Time is the chord upon the lyre; 

The present is the point of fire 
At which we strike the vibrant note. 

Into the past run back the chords. 
They bear the tones of all the years; 
They throb with all the hopes and fears 

The future holds in speechless words. 

Life lies not in the passing hour; 

The silent seasons are not dead; 

The fountains of the soul are fed 
By springs which pulse with vital power. 



29 



The future comes not with blank page — 
An empty book where may be writ 
The fool's mistakes and wisdom's wit — 

It bears the hieroglyphs of age, 

Which we translate as best we can; 
The speech divine to human tongue. 
The wisdom neither old nor young, 

The secret of the life of man. 

Time is the atmosphere of God; 
Our morrows and our yesterdays 
Are but the wind that sports and plays 

Upon the surface of the flood. 

Life adds another to its rings; 

Love's calyx with its heart of gold 
Will slowly in the light unfold. 

For God is in the soul of things. 



30 



THE GREATEST LOVE 

ODEEP is the love of the heart and 
strong, 
And it stirs the depths of life; 
The face of the soldier shines like a god* s, 

As his sword flames in the strife, 
For the patriot's spirit glows in his breast. 
And he laughs where death is rife. 

And a deeper love stirs to nobler deeds 
Than are wrought on the battlefield — 

The love of a man for his wife and home 
Which his soul has sworn to shield; 

And he fights in silence, he fights alone, 
And his wounds are never healed. 

But the tenderest, deepest, most death- 
less love 
That burns from the heart its dross, 
And that makes the soul of the weak 
sublime 
To dare and to suffer loss. 
Is the love for the Man of Nazareth, 
Whose sign is the sign of the cross. 



31 



THE SONG OF THE PALMS 

HE IS coming, He is coming! 
The winds have brought the mes- 
sage whence the gray old ohves grow. 
From the fig trees in the valley where 

Kidron's waters flow, 
From the pine trees' velvet carpet He 

pressed beneath His feet. 
From the oak trees whose shadows fell 

on Him cool and sweet. 
From the vines on Mary's cottage in 

peaceful Bethany, 
From the grass that kissed His sandals 
and flowers he stooped to see — 
He is coming. He is coming! 



32 



He is coming, He is coming! 

We hear triumphal shoutings from the 
eager, marching throng; 

We catch the thrilKng music of the chil- 
dren's lifted song; 

The very stones are throbbing to break 
into acclaim; 

All the hills exultant to reecho back His 
name. 

Break all our fronded branches and 
strew them in His way. 

Our strength and all our beauty belong 
to Him to-day! 
He is coming, He is coming! 



33 



THE SIXTH DAY AND THE FIRST 

THE sixth day woke, but lacked the 
joy of morn; 
Dawn drooped her dewy wings on eastern 

hills, 
And shrank from seeing what her light 

revealed. 
A night of woe had passed; before, a 

day 
Whose noontide light to inky darkness 

turned: 
The garden's agony, the traitor's kiss, 
The high priest's venomed hate, the 

tetrarch's scorn, 
The Roman's coward weakness, then the 

cross — 
And then the silence of the sealed tomb, 
And women softly weeping, while strong 

men 
Bore broken hearts for Israel's perished 

hope — 
And then the first day passed the purple 

gates 
Of dawn, and music throbbed in heavenly 

spheres. 
And radiant wings flashed back the sun- 
light's gold, 
And angel hands swung od'rous censers 

o'er 

34 



The breathing hills, and Love's long- 
buried dust 
Stirred warmly at the passing feet of Life ! 
The sixth day was the carnival of hell, 
And evil men and demons triumphed 

then; 
The angels kept exultant festival 
Upon the first, and heaven's jeweled walls 
And arch-angelic mansions answered back 
Triumphant hallelujahs. On the sixth, 
Hard-handed Roman soldiers mocked and 

scourged. 
Thorn-crowned and crucified the Lowly 

One; 
Upon the first, as dead men they fell 

down 
Before his angel's presence, and he came 

forth 
And trod their swords, and spears, and 

brazen shields 
Beneath his pierced but now triumphant 

feet. 
Death swept Grief's mighty organ on the 

sixth, 
Until unmeasured misereres sobbed. 
And granite hills were rent in sympathy 
With that great Heart that broke upon 

the cross; 
Upon the first, Life's rapturous fingers 

smote 

35 



Joy's snowy keys, till all the tear-drowned 

songs, 
Dust-smothered hopes and gladness of 

the world, 
Awoke and sang in burning ecstasy! 



36 



"SUPER CRUCEM" 

AN age-old proverb runs, *'Eaeh cross 
its own 
Inscription hath." Above His head 

was writ, 
"King of the Jews." The Roman's 
bitter wit. 
In triple tongue and letters large, made 

known 
The cause for which He died. The years 
have flown 
Like fading dreams since then, and 

other men 
On crosses stern have died, and yet 
again 
Have hammers rung above the sufferer's 

moan. 
Nailing th' inscriptions up. And we who 
sit 
And gaze upon the many-titled signs 
Where others died and die, can we see it — 
The board on which e'en now are 
traced the lines 
By some harsh pen, which shortly shall 

consign 
Each to a cross, resolving God's design.^ 



37 



CHRIST COMES AGAIN 

LO! Christ comes even to the least, 
For each the angels grandly sing; 
His star hangs ever in the east, 

And each his tribute still may bring. 

Life's common ways exalted are, 

Life's common work is made sublime, 

By Hght which falls from Christmas star, 
And melody of Christmas chime. 

Because by sea and mnding stream, 
The Lord Christ's footsteps still are 
pressed. 

Earth keeps the glory of a dream. 
The World and all that is are blest. 

The Lord is here, not far away; 

He comes to bide from realms above; 
And life is one long Christmas Day 

That binds us to immortal Love. 



38 



THE MONK AND THE PICTURE 

FOR sixty years and more, daily 
have I 
Upon that picture looked," an aged 

monk 
Said gently to a stranger standing mute 
In the Escurial Hall, absorbed before 
Great Titian's draft of the Last Supper 

— rich 
In color, texture, tone, made doubly so 
By age — "For sixty years; and I from 

youth 
To age have passed, and from these halls, 

as flows 
A dream, my seniors all have gone, and 

kings 
Have died, and thrones have passed away, 

but there 
Those faces on the canvas have re- 
mained — 
The Master and the Twelve, and still 

look down 
Upon me as they did of old. All else 
Seems passing shadow; only these are 

real." 



39 



Ah, Monk, the latest man, upon the verge 
Of time, back-looking o'er the drift of 

years. 
The shadow-shifting march of human 

kind, 
Will see above it all that changeless Face, 
Calm, looking down through mists of 

change, and feel 
As thou didst feel before that picture 

there ! 



40 



THE SHORTENED HOUR 

IT would have been right good to stay ! 
The air 
Was stirred with happy sounds, the 

gladsome song 
Rang clear and sweet, and joy ruled 
all the throng. 
And lighted face cheered face of friend, 

and care 
Withdrew, and hearts were young and 
life was fair — 
I wished to stay, for gladness ne'er 
seems long; 
But Love's swift call, to which I did not 
dare 
Say no, cut short the hour — ^Love does 
no wrong! 
And so it would be good to stay through 
life's 
Full hour, and hear its song, and drink 

its joy. 
And bide with friends, whose hearts 
hold no alloy. 
In company shut out from selfish strifes. 
But if there come the call of my great 

Friend, 
I gladly will accept the hastened end. 



41 



THE INNS 

A PILGRIM fares upon his way. 
And ever changes inns; 
One place of rest for yesterday, 
To-day another wins. 

Behind him still the closing door, 
And still the vacant room; 

Before him still the mitrod floor, 
Strange roofs forever loom. 

And so I hold my way alone, 
Adown the changing years; 

Last night on Jacob's dreaming-stone, 
To-night, perhaps, in tears. 

I pass like Pilgrim to his goal, 

And drop my load of sin; 
I catch the gleam of shining gold, 

I near the Changeless Inn. 



42 



SAINT IMIER'S BELLS 

DOST hear the bells," Saint Imier 
said, "that thrice 
Have waked me from my sleep, and 

ceaseless call 
Across the vale?" 'T hear no bells," 

replied 
The dull-souled servant, and returned to 

sleep. 
But Imier rose and bound his sandals on, 
And drew his cloak about his head, and 

went 
Across the hills and gorges of the Doubs, 
The mystic bells still sounding in his ears. 
Until he came where from the hill out- 
gushed 
A silvery spring; and there, because the 

bells 
Rang softly overhead, he stayed, and 

built 
His sacred home, about which slowly 

grew 
A town of peaceful homes and busy shops. 



43 



Thus ever those whose Kstening ears are 

purged 
Of carnal strife, awake when others sleep. 
Who catch the spirit-tones of distant bells. 
Which call across the vales of life from 

hills 
Where God's great thoughts await the 

feet of those 
Who, rising from their beds of ease, shall 

build 
Them into walls of truth and domes of 

deeds ! 



44> 



THE CALL OF THE SEERS 

YE men of the latest born, give ear 
to the ancient Seers, 
The deathless, insistent voices that 
speak from the buried years. 

Not faintly comes their message Hke 
sound-wraiths blown from afar, 

But strong is their call and thrilling as 
a trumpet-summons to war: 

''Where the circling Time-horizon cuts 

the ages sheer apart, 
The sense of the Presence woke us 

with a recognizing start. 

"Alone, where the Silence brooded, the 

voice of God we heard. 
His highest touched our deepest at 

calling of his word. 

"And the stars and the hills were 
witness to the covenant he made — 

The stars he named and the mountains 
whose foundations he had laid. 

"As we heard so we spoke, and we stood 
unafraid in the councils of kings. 

For our eyes were unsealed to the vis- 
ion — ^the guardian presence of wings. 

"Where armies were marshaled for bat- 
tle, by altars dripping with blood, 
45 



By the thrones of the mighty empires, in 
the name of the Highest we stood; 

"We spoke in the ears of the proud the 

terrible message of God, 
And wielded the flail of his wrath and 

smote with his pitiless rod; 

"In earthquake, lightning and thunder, 
in drought and famine and flood. 

In the spears and swords of the heathen, 
and garments crimson with blood, 

"In the Angel's ominous passing, the 
death silent camp of the foe, 

Came the answer to blindness and 
doubt, 'Behold ! He is God, even so !' 

"From the rim of the ages we call to 
the men of the latest birth 

And forever our message is this: From 
the passionate youth of the earth 

"Through its prime to its age and for aye 
God's law is supreme and his will 

And infinite wisdom unfathomed, his 
plans and his love are still 

"The eternal girdings of life and the 
ways of the just and the meek 

Are the strongholds of peace and the 
sources of strength are for him 
who will seek." 

46 



AFTER TWENTY-SIX YEARS 



I AM thinking, I am thinking of the 
blessed Long Ago, 
Of the people and the places that we 
knew; 
And my soul is filled with longing, as the 
memories come thronging, through 
the amber air of fancy to a music 
soft and slow. 
With the moonlight and the lovelight 
breaking through; 
And my heart is cleft asunder by the 
melody's soft thunder, as I bow my 
head and listen to the far-off river's 
flow. 



47 



II 

I am thinking, I am thinking of the old 
house on the hill. 
Of the lilies and the snow-balls bloom- 
ing free; 

And my inner sight discloses the fragrant 

climbing roses, hanging rich from the 

veranda and about the window sill, 

And the lamplight shining softly I can 

see; 

And a tremor passes through me, as the 
day when Cupid slew me, and the 
air is rich with perfume, and all the 
night is still. 



48 



Ill 

I am thinking, I am thinking of the hour 

which ever sings, 
When, your hand in mine, you pledged 

me to be true; 
And sleeping birds were wakened, and the 

dew from flowers was shaken by 

the passing of Love's feet, and the 

fanning of his wings, 
And my soul was in the hand I gave 

to you: 
And there shined the ancient glory, as 

our hearts beat out the story, and 

upon us fell no shadow which the 

Future backward flings. 



49 



IV 

I am thinking, I am thinking of the years 
that intervene, 
Of the six and twenty summers which 
have flown; 

And a sadness stealeth o'er me, and a 
mist comes up before me as I look 
upon the pictures thrown on mem- 
ory's magic screen; 
And I coimt the many sorrows you 
have known; 

But your soul has cleaved to duty, and 
has ever grown in beauty, and I hail 
you, and I bless you, as my own 
beloved queen. 



50 



V 

I am thinking, I am thinking of the on- 
ward-coming years, 
And of ail the hidden meaning they 
contain; 

But a strength my soul upholdeth, and a 
love my heart enfoldeth, and the 
unresolved to-morrow is haunted 
with no fears; 
Never doubting, we will bravely face 
all pain: 

Our love and God's possessing, every day 
will bring a blessing, and faith will 
arch the rainbow on the mist of 
falling tears. 



51 



VI 

I am thinking, I am thinking in the 

coming hour of hours. 
Which of us shall take the other by 

the hand, 
And, the deathless tokens giving of the 

dying to the living, pass on into the 

Homeland of never fading flowers? 
To the questions comes no answer 

from that land: 
But above the sky is bending, and to 

love there is no ending, and death 

will bow a captive and be robbed 

of all his powers. 



52 



THE BOND OP THE YEARS 

HAS the passing year been sad? 
Are its pages stained mth tears? 
Does the coming year but add 
To the burden of your fears? 

Do the smiHng days, now gone. 
Linger hke a perfumed dream? 

Breaks the future hke a dawn 
With a hope-inspiring gleam? 

Sad or glad the fading year. 
Rich or wan the dawning day: 

God was there, and still is here, 
And his love abides alway. 



53 



ANALOGIA 

DEEP in the heart of earth are molten 
fires; 
Above, the many-folded strata lie, 
And mountain ships their granite anchors 

cast 
Into the burning seas on which they ride. 
But here and there, from some lone 

smoking cones, 
The prisoned flames in murky wrath 

break forth. 
But here and there, in gush of boiling 

springs. 
The seething heat displays to outward 

sight : 
Yet day and night a subtle warmth 

upflows, 
Impalpable through all the upper earth; 
It softly bathes the roots of every tree. 
It steals into the hearts of trembling 

seeds, 
And, like enchantment, melts into the 

dreams 
Of sleeping flowers. 



54 



Above, the glowing sun. 
From which the earth its primal fires 

derived. 
Pours radiant heat and light o'er all the 

world. 
Along the sunbeam's far-stretched golden 

wire, 
God's ancient cable through ethereal seas, 
Flows all the power of nature's mechan- 
ism — 
The force that lifts the waters to the sky, 
And drives the clouds upon their track- 
less way; 
And throbs with patient. Titan energy 
In man's steel-muscled, tireless engineries: 
Though swift as thought the light and 

heat descend. 
So gently, as with spirit feet, they touch. 
The limpid, jeweled dewdrop trembles 

not 
That hangs upon the lily's vestal robes! 



55 



Deep in the heart of man glow spirit 

fires; 
Above, the earthy crust of temporal life. 
The mountain weight and height of 

worldly care. 
Ambition gross and strife of sordid trade. 
Shut in and bind the soul's diviner heat; 
And yet it warms the very roots of life; 
Breathes softly on affection's hidden 

founts, 
And from their streams draws off the 

icy chill; 
Exhales through all the chambers of the 

soul, 
Imparts a mystic glow to common things, 
Creeps into spirit cells, and keeps in life 
The germs of good desire. 



56 



Above stands God, 
Who breathed in man the pure immortal 

flame; 
And from his face a steady Ught and 

warmth 
Floods all the life below. 'Tis he imparts 
The power to gather wealth from hard 

estate; 
His breath bears on the tide-streams of 

the soul 
Which carry to the barren chores of life 
The airs and argosies of paradise, 
E'en as the currents from the far south 

seas, 
Which sweep the shores of frozen north- 
ern lands 
And bring to them the breath of tropic 

suns! 



57 



"OUT OF THE DESERT INTO THE 
Hn.LS" 

OUT of the desert into the hills! 
All the day long through the dust 
and the heat 
The engine toiled on with a steady beat 
Of steel striking steel 'neath its burning 
feet — 
The sand, and the silence, and regions 

of death, 
The air that throbbed hot like a fur- 
nace breath, — 
Then, sudden, a climb from the bleak 

and the bare 
Toward the cedared heights and the 

mountain stair. 
Toward the ermined peaks and the limpid 
air — 
Up from the desert into the hills! 



58 



Out of the desert into the hills! 
All a life long, through dull sorrow and 

pain, 
The years that drag on a wearisome plain, 
Commonplace, travail, and labor in 
vain — 
Heartache, and sighing, and hopes long 

deferred, 
Clouds without water and prayers all 
unheard, — 
Then, sudden, a climb, a breath from the 

height, 
A calm, and a joy, a glory, a light, 
A vision divine that breaks on the sight — 
Up from Life's desert into the Hills! 

The Nevada Desert. 



59 



THE PATHOS OF LIFE 

THROUGH all the range of human life 
there runs a minor strain; 

Who listens with his soul attent will hear 
a cry of pain 

Beneath life's joy and laughter, its feast- 
ings and its songs, 

Its struggles and its triumphs and its long- 
endured wrongs. 

Now rising to a piercing wail, now sink- 
ing in low sobs. 

Still on and on through bars of years, the 
note forever throbs. 

However swift and glad the beat of 

dancers' feet may fall. 
Or madly joyous be the strain that holds 

them in its thrall. 
The spirit's ear may hear the steps of 

sorrow's weary feet. 
That move to dirges sad as death down 

suffering's stony street; 
There is no cup of joy so sweet life's 

rarest moment cheers, 
But, holden to the spirit's taste, reveals 

the salt of tears. 



60 



No laughter is so silvery clear that bears 

not in its tone 
The essence of some sadness deep that 

blends it with a groan; 
There are no eyes so heavenly bright 

with joy, however brief, 
But in their depths may still be seen the 

shadow-soul of grief — 
The continents of life which lie on time's 

encircling main, 
Are bound together, heart to heart, by 

throbbing wires of pain. 



61 



"THEY DO NOT UNDERSTAND" 

THEY do not understand! 
My heart is hungry, and with 
longing cries 
For love and sympathy, and in my eyes 
My soul's appeal is such all men should 

read, 
And answer warmly to my life's deep 

need, — 
But no — they do not scorn my lonely 

plea; 
They merely look, and pass, but do not 
see — 

They do not understand! 

I do not understand! 
In street, and home, and shop, and 

busy marts, 
A thousand pass me bearing aching 

hearts. 
And faces turn to mine with weary pain, 
In quest for that for which they look in 

vain, — 
I do not read the meaning in their eyes. 
Nor catch the pathos of their smothered 

sighs — 

I do not understand! 



62 



The good God understands! 

No tear, no deep and lonely hour, no sigh 

That merely asks the boons to rest and 
die, 

No call for love, no voiceless prayer for 
good. 

No dark of life, which none has under- 
stood, 

That He sees not, who loves, and feels, 
and fills 

The longing soul, the fainting spirit 
thrills— 

The good God understands! 



63 



BE MERCIFUL 

ONCE ran my prayer as runs the brook 
O'er pebbles and through sunny 
meads ; 
No pain my inmost spirit shook, 

Words broke in shallows of small needs. 

But now the shadows on me lie, 
Deep-cut the channel of the years; 

And prayer is but a sobbing cry 

Through whitened lips and falling tears. 

Not glibly, but with broken speech, 
O God, my God, I pray to thee; 

Enough if now I may beseech, 
Be merciful, O God, to me! 



64^ 



HIS HAND 

THE Servant wrought with weary brain, 
when, lo 
The Master softly laid his unseen palm 
Among the keys of thought, and there 
was calm; 
A silence touched the tongue, the hand 

let go 
The pen; and then the Master, smiling 
slow. 
Said gently, ''Wait, and rest." Strange 

peace, like balm. 
Flowed from the Hand, and music like 
a psalm 
Stirred from the love-pressed keys in 
deepening flow. 
As day by day the mystic touch was 
felt; 
Until at last, slow smiling still, his 
hand 
The Master lifted — while the Servant 
knelt — 
And spoke with grace most passing 
sweet: "So, stand, 
The harvest calls again, and rest must 

cease; 
Thy prayer for work is heard; lo, go in 
peace!" 

Clifton Springs, New York. 

65 



THE EYES OF A CHILD 

THEY are clear, the eyes of a child. 
Clear as the blue of the sky; 
No murks of a spirit assoiled 
In their limpid azure lie. 

They are deep, the eyes of a child. 
Deep as the deeps of the sea; 

Under their lifted fringes soft 
Lies a soul of mystery. 

They are keen, the eyes of a child. 
Keen as the lances of light; 

The pure in heart alone can stand 
Unshamed in their searching sight. 

They are strong, the eyes of a child. 
Strong as the strength of a God; 

They rule the world with gentle sway, 
For love is their scepter-rod. 



ea 



FORTY YEARS AGO 

TWAS forty years ago, full forty years ; 
And May, and plums abloom, and 
on the air 
A waft of sweet that took the breath 
away; 
With heart athrill, Love's music in my 
ears, 
I paused and drank the odorous air; 
for there 
Her home — and trees abloom that 
day in May! 

'Twas forty years ago ; but still the breath 
Of bloom is blown adown the aisles of 
time, 
And notes of Love's old songs which 
never die; 
And young, with youth beyond the reach 
of death, 
I pause before the house where roses 
climb. 
And in my heart sweet May ne'er 
passes by! 



67 



THE SURPRISE 

I SHALL not know, but I will watch 
and wait; 
The world below, some time my home, 

will lie 
Beyond my sight and ken, howe'er I 
try; 
But through long, nightless days, before 

the gate 
Which faces eartnward, hoping soon or 
late 
One face to see, I oft will stand, and 
sigh 
As up the starry slopes come small and 
great 
From earthly strife, for one I would 
descry. 
But, mayhap, in my House not made by 
hands, 
At some calm hour, such time I wait 
and dream. 
And count again Time's slowly dropping 
sands. 
And from my window watch the radiant 
gleam — 
A voice of other years will break the air. 
And, turning, I shall see you smiling 
there ! 



68 



DEATH AND LIFE 

GREAT things and thoughts are only 
rarely felt. 
Day after day beneath the skies we walk, 
And they are merely commonplace to us, 
Though every day the crystal canopy. 
Like God's pavilion, is above our heads. 
And every night stars burn with death- 
less fires. 
And constellations march with solemn 

tread 
To time which throbs from deep eternity, 
The mighty symphony of wind and waves. 
The booming surf, the pulsing tides, the 

vast 
Expanse of waters blue, and bluer sky. 
Are lost to many dwellers by the sea, 
Absorbed in petty thoughts and petty 

cares. 
Men sleep and rise, and sleep and rise 

again 
And with dull eyes behold the vision 

rare 
Which circles half their world ; the mighty 

stairs 
Which mount from arid sands to snowy 

peaks ; 
The forest-robes that fall from Titan hills. 
And blue rain-curtains softly swung along 
69 



The mountain's side and rim of thirsty 

plain. 
At times we feel the power of things 

like these, 
And then in awe we kneel beneath the 

stars, 
The spirit leaps in answer to the sea, 
And mountains stand transfigured to our 

sight, 
Their crests like points where th' aspiring 

earth 
Breaks into snowy bloom beneath the 

kiss 
Of heaven. Our eyes are touched, and 

lo! we see — 
Aye, more, not only do we see, but feel. 
So death and life have been revealed 

to me. 

Not looking on the dead have I been 

made 
To feel the power of death; nor when in 

thought 
Reflecting on the mighty mystery; 
But in the silence and the dark, as one 
At midnight wakened hears the long deep 

roar 
Of sea-waves breaking on the rocky shore, 
Touched as by a spirit hand, I sometimes 

wake 

70 



And hear a voice like God's speak to 

my soul 
As from the silence of eternity. 
And saying, "Thou shalt die !" And then, 

awe-thrilled, 
I cry, "Now do I feel the power of death !" 
So, too, that Voice, with deep solemnity, 
At other times, slow-speaking, says, "Thou 

shalt 
Forever live!" And then the future 

seems 
To open all its heart, the farthest point 
Down avenues of deathless certainties 
Brought near to me and made more 

thrilling sure 
Than present moments of all common 

hours ; 
And thus I feel the power of endless life. 

O Rider, dread, of the Pale Horse, who 

hast 
Down all the ages ridden, and still doth 

ride 
With phantom hoof-beat on before the 

ranks 
Of marching Life, Courier avaunt thou 

art. 
The Herald Prince of Immortality! 



71 



THE PEARL OF PEACE 

THE radiant angel held the Pearl of 
Peace, 
Glowing with softened light which, 

dreaming, sleeps 
In calms of hearts at rest, whose cen- 
tral deeps 
Are homes for tranquil thoughts, un- 
sounded seas 
Of lives to which, long past, came pain's 
surcease — 
Great Pearl, whose lustrous white for- 
ever keeps 
The bliss of heart that loves and eye 
that weeps: 
I sought the envied boon on bended knees. 
Ah, me! The angel softly answered: 

"Nay. 

The gift is not for me to give; its price 
The minted gold of earth would not 

suffice 
To pay; it goes to him who dares to 

weigh 
In Love's blood-sprinkled scales the 

whole of life; 
To him shall come the peace of God, 

the end of strife." 



n 



MY FINAL SELF 

AN old man met me at the dusk of eve ; 
A something thrilled me as his steps 
drew nigh, 
A fear, the starting of an inward cry; 
An air of other-world did seem to cleave 
To his bowed head, bent form, slow step, 
and leave 
The sense that falls when comes the 

call to die. 
His face was mantled, but his deep- 
souled eye 
Told me the words he spoke I must 

receive. 
I spoke; he answered, and his voice was 

low: 
"Nearer of kin art thou and I than son 
And sire; by bands of fate the moon 
and sea 
Are not so closely bound. Thou didst 

not know, 
But I am thou, as when the years are 
done, 
Thy Final Self, the man that thou 
shalt be!" 



73 



MY SLEEPING PLACE 

SOMEWHERE, I know not where, 
there waits a spot 
In the still bosom of dear Mother 

Earth, 

Where I, life's sorrow ended and its 

mirth, 

Shall lay me down, as child upon its cot. 

To rest and sleep, all vexing cares forgot. 

The wind, whose way is 'round the 

whole world's girth. 
And secret soul of dust that brings to 
birth 
All forms of life, do sense the unmarked 
lot. 
And say, ''This place is his, and he 
shall come 
Unto his own at his appointed time." 
And things above that sing, and all 
the dumb 
Strange things that live below, and hear 
the chime 
Of earth's deep throbbing heart, do 
ceaseless hum, 
"He comes at last, though from a distant 
clime!" 



74 



THE ENDURING DREAM 

IN life's fresh morn I dreamed — 'twas 
long ago — 
That I would perfect be. The air 

was clear. 
And mountain heights, in spirit-space, 
seemed near. 
"One more, and easy climb, and then the 

glow 
Of summit-joy!" Ah me, I did not know 
How steep and hard the way; I did not 
hear 
The thunder in the hills, nor guess how 
slow 
My bleeding feet must toil up paths 
of fear! 

In life's calm eve, as long ago, I dream 
That I shall perfect be. Not near, 

but far. 
The heights I face; but on my path a 

gleam 
Of hope falls lustrous as the evening 

star; 
And near, my Guide, whose pain-pierced 

feet have trod 
The long up-climbing road that leads to 

God. 



75 



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